One Too Many Lattes
by Becca the Evil
Summary: Two weeks later, and far too many lattes.


Authors: Becca Wiggin and Anaia Bella  
Title: One Too Many Lattes  
Disclaimer: I own it all. It's all mine. Muwahaha. And if you care to challenge my power, then you really have no life, you sick bastard.  
  


One Too Many Lattes  


  
It had been two weeks in the shining sun, in the shining sea, and in the arms of his beloved.  
  
But now, he was really pissed off.  
  
"Obi Wan, I'm not your apprentice any more. So stop telling me what to do." Anakin rolled his eyes oh-so-maturely, and sipped some coffee.  
  
The hologram turned an angry shade of red. "You're still a Jedi. But you're some screwed up fuck. You're drinking a latte, you gay gay man." Obi Wan pointed and laughed.  
  
"I'm married."   
  
"And?"  
  
"Shut up! Go away! Leave me and my prosthetic arm in peace!"  
  
Obi Wan grinned. "So is that what this is about? Are you feeling a little less _manly_? Do we need to have a man-to-man talk?"  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"...or with Yoda? Would talking to a two foot tall green guy make you feel more secure?"  
  
"Bite me," Anakin growled.  
  
"Don't go there, Ani. You know that Jedis resorted to cannibalism back in the day."  
  
"If you say one more word, I'll ram your testicles so far into your abdomen that it'll take a heart surgeon to get them out."  
  
"That was laaaaaame. Laaaaaaa... oh! Hi Padme!"  
  
Padme Amidala walked into the room with her hair in an odd sort of disarray. An even more odd sort than the normal cinnamon bun-like hungry-George-Lucas fantasy disarray. She was quivering with rage.  
  
"Ani, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Don't ever, ever leave your stupid, clip on braid on the pillow. People might realize that my hair isn't actually mine and then I'll loose all of my credibility as a sex-pot politician, the next election, and next year's paycheck. Then I'll have to return my pretty pretty princess action figures. And THEN I'D HAVE TO KILL YOU!" she shouted. Then, she burped softly and giggled. "Oops, too many marshmallows. Hi Obi Wan."  
  
Anakin narrowed his eyes in a moody, whining, teenager sort of way. "Well, little miss needy, don't notice that there was breakfast in bed for you AND that I killed three of your political opponents in their sleep last night. You never remember the nice things I do for you! And you hog the pillow, too!"  
  
"I am not your mommy."  
  
Anakin's lip quivered. "My mommy's dead! I killed them all- all the men and the women and the children and all of their bastard little MORONIC, PIG-SMELLING DOGS. MWUAHAHAHAHAA!"  
  
"Yes, but that's all in the past. Look to the future! Think of the children. And plus, I sort of could be your mother. If that whole odd, me no age-o, you grow-up-o thing didn't happen. Whatever, that's too complicated for your little brain, dear, yeah, let's do the time warp, yeah."  
  
Anakin sipped his latte moodily.  
  
Padme sighed and tapped her foot in a motherly manner. "Honey, I told you not to have too many lattes. When they come from Starbucks, it's like buying from the Dark Side. And they make you look gay."  
  
"Well I'm naturally pretty." Anakin said irreverently. "And I don't use two hundred cans of hairspray a day. So there."  
  
Meanwhile, Obi Wan was giggling in a very professional, Jedi-like way.  
  
Padme gasped and looked at Anakin with horrified eyes.  
  
"How do you know about... you were in my hair spray again!"  
  
"Well a Jedi has to look his best when he's saving the world, universe, whatever."  
  
"You didn't save ME! Don't I mean more to you than the whole universe? You never bring me flowers any more! Wait, you never brought me flowers!"  
  
"Well I lost my arm for you, you stupid, self-centered hoe."  
  
Padme looked Anakin in the eyes. "How do you think it feels with that nasty, cold metal thing creeping up on you at night? Couldn't you have gotten something more human? They had better prostethics in the 90's. Look at Pamela Anderson!"  
  
Obi Wan giggled again as Anakin broke down in tears. "The bastards killed my mother and they took my arm and they made my wife hate my beautiful body and they gave me an irresistible urge for lattes! AND I'LL KILL THEM ALL! DAMN THE REPUBLIC! I'LL BE IMPORTANT SOME DAY! MUWAHAHAHAHA!"  
  
"Weirdo." Padme said, kissed him on the cheek, and snatched the latte away from him. "Enough."  
  
Anakin's glazed eyes cleared, and he again looked like the powerful, cool, hot, wiseass, hot, bad, teenage heartthrob that he is. "Oh Padme, the love of my life, you are so beautiful. You are as beautiful of the landscapes of my native Tatouin. You are the sun and the moons on clear days. You are the feeling of not having crappy-ass sand in your shorts. You are smooth, like the water on Naboo. And good God, you're hot. Let's have hot monkey sex."  
  
Padme grinned. "''kay!"  
  
And Obi Wan covered his eyes and called George Lucas about post-partum stress disorder, and about the lawsuit he was filing for being damned with the curse of having to talk like a stupid, blunt, unemotional, celibate loser Jedi-master-man for THREE WHOLE HOURS in a cramped, smelly movie theatre with teenage girls giggling and screaming over Anakin. ALWAYS ANAKIN. Damn.  
  



End file.
